


October 11th, 1924

by AcesOfSpade



Series: Parent!Stucky verse [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Children's Stories, Established Relationship, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7875109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcesOfSpade/pseuds/AcesOfSpade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Becca asked how her parents met, she wasn't expecting them to <i>laugh</i>. After they calmed down, they did tell the story though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	October 11th, 1924

**Author's Note:**

> More parent!Stucky. Yay! I decided that Becca and Ian were going to be only two years apart instead of five like they are for the forum I made them on, just so they can interact more.

“Daddy, how did you and Papa meet?”

 

It was a simple, innocent question posed by seven-year-old Becca. She wasn't expecting her parents to burst out laughing like she'd told a joke, and she'd voiced as much with an annoyed 'why are you laughing?'.

 

“Sorry, peanut,” Bucky apologized, calming himself down. “It's just a weird story.”

 

Becca frowned at that, her five-year-old brother wandering over when he heard laughter.

 

“I wanna know,” Becca defended, crossing her arms.

 

“Why's it so important?” Steve asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Father's Day!” Becca exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious answer. “It's this weekend, and Mister Xavier wants us to tell stories about how our parents met.”

 

Bucky and Steve nodded in understanding, motioning for the kids to come sit on the couch with them. The obliged, Becca sitting with Bucky and Ian with Steve.

 

“Well, you know Papa and I are real old, right?” Steve asked, earning two ginger nods. “Well, we met in the 1920s, if you'd believe that.”

 

“Whoa,” Ian muttered, eyes wide. “That's a long time ago,” he said, trying to count backwards on his fingers and giving up after five.

 

“It was, buddy,” Bucky nodded. “It was October 11th, 1924,” he went on. “I was seven, your Papa was six.”

 

_The chilly October air had little Steve Rogers' teeth chattering as he pulled his tattered sweater closer around his body. He was sitting in the sandbox at school, drawing stick fingers in the sand with his fingers. A kid over twice his size, which wasn't that exceptional, came up to him with a menacing grin._

 

_“Hey, Toothpick,” the kid called, which made Steve sigh and look up._

 

_“Yes, Andrew?” Steve sighed, wiping his drawings out of the dirt and pulling his sweater around himself again._

 

_“You was drawing again, wasn't you?” Andrew snarled, stepping closer. “Drawing's for girls.”_

 

_“Nuh uh,” Steve shook his head defiantly, crossing his arms over his chest. “The Disney Brothers draw, an' they ain't girls.”_

 

_“You don't know if they do or not,” Andrew reasoned. “They could have girls drawing for them, 'cause they gotta know that drawing's for girls.”_

 

_“I think they draw everything themselves,” Steve huffed, rolling his eyes. How dumb could this bully be? Of course the Disney Brothers drew their own stuff! Why would they have someone else do it for them?_

 

_Andrew took another step closer, kicking sand in Steve's face. “You don't know nothing, Toothpick. You don't know drawing's for girls, you don't know how to be healthy. You're stubborn, too.” Another kick to the sand, sending more flying in Steve's face._

 

_Steve spluttered, trying to bat the sand away from his face with each kick. He could feel the little flecks stinging his eyes, getting caught in his lungs and making him wheeze. “Stop it!” he coughed, which sent sand flying out of his mouth._

 

_Andrew just kept kicking sand at him, a menacing smirk on his face. “I don't think I will,” he said sarcastically._

 

_As Steve kept coughing up sand, a dark-haired boy about a year older than himself approached, looking ticked off. “Andrew!” he called out sharply. “Why are you kickin' sand at a kid?”_

 

_“He don't know that drawing's for girls,” Andrew snapped back, stopping momentarily to talk to the kid._

 

_“Drawing ain't just for girls, idiot,” the boy rolled his eyes. “I dunno what rock you live under, but if you recall, boys can draw too.”_

 

_“Nuh uh,” Andrew huffed. “They can't.”_

 

_“Is that do? Would you say that to the Disney Brothers?” the boy challenged, crossing his arms over his chest._

 

_“Yes. 'cause I doubt they draw their own stuff anyway,” Andrew shot back, crossing his own arms._

 

_“So, just 'cause you think boys can't draw, you're kickin' sand at a little kid?” the boy frowned._

 

_“'m six!” Steve called over. “'m not a little kid!”_

 

_“Yeah,” Andrew huffed with a nod. “He needs to do_ boy _things. Like play with a ball of something.”_

 

_The dark-haired boy took a few steps closer to Andrew, uncrossing his arms so he could grab the collar of Andrew's shirt. “I'd watch what you say, Andrew,” he said sharply. “Anybody can do whatever they want if they ain't hurting nobody. If the kid wants to draw, he can draw. You, however, should stop kicking sand at people because you're hurting them.” With that, he let go of Andrew's shirt, shoving him backwards in the process. “Don't make me fight you. We both know who'll win.”_

 

_Andrew huffed again, turning and walking away. There was no use fighting the kid; Andrew would lose._

 

_Turning to Steve, the boy knelt beside him. “You okay?” he asked. “You breathed in a lot o' sand.”_

 

_Steve nodded, coughing up more sand. “'m good,” he mumbled. “'s not the first time.”_

 

_The dark-haired boy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Not the first time?” he muttered. “I'm gonna fight him.”_

 

_Steve shook his head quickly. “I'm fine,”_ _he said frantically._

 

_“You're obviously not,” the boy said firmly. “You're coughing up sand! Hey, what's your name?”_

 

_“Steve Rogers,” the blond boy said, puffing out his chest._

 

_“Well, Steve Rogers, my name is James Barnes,” the dark-haired boy stated, holding out his hand. Steve shook it, smiling slightly. “And I think I'm gonna stick around you. That okay?”_

 

_Steve nodded. “That's okay,” he said, not knowing just what he was getting himself into with this James kid._

 

“So you two met 'cause someone was picking on Daddy?” Becca asked, eyes wide in curiosity.

 

Bucky nodded. “Your Daddy was a shrimp of a kid, probably about the size of Ian by the time he was eight. I decided he needed someone to look out for him, especially if Andrew Klein was gonna keep kickin' sand in his face.”

 

“You make it sound like it happened every day, Buck,” Steve chuckled. “It was really maybe twice a week, but the point still stands.”

 

“Awe!” Becca cooed, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “That's so sweet!”

 

Bucky chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Becca's hair. “If you say so, peanut.”

 

“I do,” Becca nodded seriously.

 

As he had been oddly silent, Steve glanced down at Ian only to coo and laugh at the same time. “He fell asleep,” he muttered when Becca and Bucky raised questioning eyebrows. Indeed, Ian had fallen asleep against Steve's chest, his little chest rising and falling rhythmically as they spoke.

 

Bucky chuckled softly. “Wanna take him up to bed?” he suggested. “He must be tired from all the running around he does.”

 

Steve nodded, taking Ian into his arms and carrying him to his bedroom down the hall.

 

Becca turned to Bucky, looking up at him with wide green eyes. “You and Daddy are perfect for each other,” she commented, pulling him into a hug.

 

Chuckling, Bucky hugged her back. “Is that so?”

 

Becca nodded against Bucky's chest. “It is so. An' the people in the tabloids who keep sayin' you ain't are wrong.”

 

“Thanks, peanut,” Bucky muttered with a smile, kissing the top of her head. “Why don't we go start supper before Daddy gets back?”

 

“Can we make meatballs?” Becca asked excitedly, pulling out of the hug.

 

“Sure,” Bucky chuckled. “Would you like some spaghetti with those meatballs?”

 

“I guess,” Becca shrugged. She just really liked meatballs. Climbing off the couch, Becca headed for the kitchen, Bucky following behind her to grab what they needed for meatballs.


End file.
